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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required The Library of Trust and Hope The Bank of Trust and Hope (Cant decide on title, so feel free to pick or suggest one) She was all but four years of age Birthdays were such magical moments The cake was filled with candles The balloons still in their package twelve on the table Daddy daddy, I can not fill these balloons!! They are not magic like you said!!!!! Do not fret Maria, its daddy who is magical I shall help you little one, let me see those balloons Sure enough daddy blew up twelve white and pink balloons Maria was in awe at daddy’s magical powers She knew her daddy would fight dragons to bring her but a smile Maria knew she was safe in daddy's arms, oh what a birthday this will be Maria was now ten years older Fourteen years old and already filled with so many happy memories On this fall day, home from school There was grandpa in the back yard as usual He was tending his garden of roses When she was younger, he told her they were magical roses Grandma would speak to him in his magical garden From the heavens above Now at eighteen, daydreaming in a coffee shop A stranger picks up a rose from an empty table A smile oozing in charm, stares into her eyes This is for you, beauty for beauty She was swept off her feet, in a whirlwind romance They danced and dined, it seemed all on her dime Until the morning she awoke, completely alone Both lover and credit cards did abscond Now twenty one, and wise to the world Absorbed in her studies, somewhat colder than one should be for that age A chilly fall day in an empty library A stranger comes, giving her a drawing of a red rose Hello he says! I drew this for you! Oh no she thinks to herself, not another one! Politely she smiles and replies thank-you, but I am taken This stranger smiles right back and says, the drawing is for you no matter The next week, and the weeks after, the same routine He comes to her with a drawing of another beautiful rose She politely declines his advances Maria knows that a rose, has a stem, and that comes with pricks The twelfth week and here he is again What is the poor girl to do? She is curious, and she can not quite help herself She asks, from what do you draw such beautiful flowers? He smiles kindly and replies How about next week, I show you? We can have a coffee, and discuss art Hesitating she just can not say no to this simple gesture of kindness They are walking along, and surprisingly she finds herself Quite intrigued with the ease of their conversation He takes hold of her hand, and says I live over there, the house in red She has no time to object as he pulls her forward to the backyard She stares in absolute shock and awe at what appears before her Why its the most beautiful, wonderful, enchanting English garden she ever saw You? she stammers, you made this? He smiles shyly and says; well now you know what inspires my drawings Now Maria is eighty and filled with both happiness and sadness Her husband of all these years has passed on To be with all his precious roses in the heavens waiting She sits in their garden, remembering a life time of memories She picks a single rose, and inhales its fragrance Contemplating the wisdom's of life I miss you so much my love You taught me trust is earned and not given Your love was my blanket of happiness, wait for me my love, I am yours eternally Dear Reader I was lucky in life to have had a good upbringing. My daddy, showered me with love, but most of all he taught me that gifts were not objects, balloons were not magical, nor was he. I learned that what was magical is the time and effort he took to love me, and protect me and those memories I so cherish, but they also he showed me the values I hold dear in myself and those around me. Then there was dear old grandpa. His garden was his passion, and I suspect that if I could have had more time to spend with him, it was really grandma’s passion, and after her passing, this was the activity that kept him close to her soul. In that respect, I guess it was truly a magical garden. Whenever he saw me, his eyes would light up, he would pour lemonades and he told me such wonderful stories. Unlike many though, he listened to all my troubles and told me, that in life I had to learn some things the hard way, but that he himself knew for a certainty that I would find the love and happiness, that as a young women, I felt would be lost to me forever. I re-tell my story for all the people out there that have lost trust in others, or have lost hope in humanity. You may have your heart stolen for awhile, someone can bring you sadness, but never let them steal your soul. Learn that trust is earned, not given, and never punish the rest of the world, for your bad experience, for ultimately it is you who suffers most. Be giving, kind and generous, with a strong will and mind. If someone does not respect you, then they shall never earn your trust, and that’s how it should be. Be wise, be prudent, be safe, but most of all be open to love and kindness God bless Maria Sefue
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